Elvish Song of Romance
by Israeli-Izzy
Summary: Will you marry me?" What was that look in his eye? Excitement? Triumph? Desperation? She wanted to. He looked so... marriable right now. He put on that adorable look again--the eyes, the hands, the smile--for her. She found her voice."I can't."
1. To Persist in Toil and Strife

**A/N: First off, I want to say that to all you previous readers out there, and faithful reviewers, you do NOT have to read these next couple of chapters. They're basically going in the same direction as last time. You can read them if you want to, because, in my opinion, they are quite a bit better than last time and there are some new twists, but you don't have to. I'd appreciate if you review on them just to let me know that you're checking them out. And please tell me what you think of the language I made up. I want at least five reviews before I move on. FIVE REVIEWS, PEOPLE! So please, please review. And give me nice long ones too. Anyone who gives me a nice LONG review gets a free muffin.**

**Luv, Izzy**

1. To Persist in Toil and Strife

_A combination of beauty and innocence is a rare thing indeed in a human. Like fire and water, an existence of such a thing would be a miracle; but whoever said miracles don't happen? One such miracle was a child entitled "December Shonti, daughter of King Asa Shonti, heir to the throne of Amianell."_

_No human, elf, dwarf, or giant could deny the beauty of this individual girl; not even the unintelligible species—centaurs, unicorns, or other creature—or the people of the lands of Iyunthra, Rasendron, or Rivatown. Even the magic creatures like pixies, fairies, and gnomes or the monsters like ogres, dragons, and creatures of the dark magic were in awe._

_All creatures stopped whatever they were doing to look at her radiant face, emerging from the thick of balroe vines which draped over the arched balcony doorway of the tower. Winter sunlight shone tenderly on her joyous smile. Not even the alpha of dragons could tear his steady gaze from her blue eyes and the icy blue winter coat that framed her slender body. Iyunthraeans, the fairest and wisest of all races, watched her in admiration as snowflakes landed on her fair face and wind danced playfully through her blonde tresses. Then she opened her mouth and sang an elvish song._

"_To persist in toil and strife_

_I've wasted all my life,_

_Truth is sharper than a knife,_

_But I must pull through..._

"_How dare you come again?_

_Can't you see you cause my pain?_

_My future has been laid._

_Please give me a clue..._

"_I'm weak but still I tried._

_Secrets are harder still to hide._

_Forgive me, friend, I lied._

_What will you do?_

"_You make light from dark._

_Illuminate my heart._

_It started with a spark._

_Now I'm consumed..._

"_What did I expect?_

_I have nothing left._

_And it's getting harder to forget._

_These concepts are new._

"_Friends we are once more._

_You're who I've been waiting for.  
I'm feeling quite heart-sore._

_I wish I knew..._

"_I can't utter a sound,_

_But I must stand my ground._

_I won't drown, I won't go down,_

_Now that I've found you..._

"_Do you think I'm beautiful?_

_Let your words be truthful._

_I can't believe I'm such a fool._

_And you know it too..._

"_You've confessed your love for me._

_I can no longer try to flee._

_My stubbornness you see._

_I love you too..._

"_I don't want you to go._

_Without you, it's so cold._

_My life away I'll throw,_

_Just to save you..._

"_Now that you're right here,_

_No danger will I fear._

_The time is coming near,_

_For me to leave you._

"_Give me one more chance._

_May I have this dance?_

_Reversing is my stance._

_Our love is true..._

_Our love is true..._

_Love is true..._

_Love is true..."_

_Her voice slowly began to fade until it was but a still small voice in the wind. Her smile gradually vanished and she closed her eyes. When she reopened her eyes, they were like ice—transparent. An icy fog rose up around her and whipped through her hair and clothing. Clouds smothered any light and the wind became more vicious and wild, howling, still carrying the princess's voice away. She began to chant in an icy voice, in elvish._

"_Elero nahrise rhiesque tha corem khas ol blere. Jem acras tha tu enano, zur tha mirom ol pasena tu shir. Vesque ol—" The noise of the wind rose above the chanting and the fog rose around the child's body. Soon she was hidden completely from sight._

_Then, all of a sudden, everything ceased. It was so silent that one could hear the fairies breathing. Everyone and everything below stood, motionless, wondering what had just happened, eyes wide with fear. The fog subsided and cleared away, but the princess was gone. That was when the sun peered out from behind the clouds, lighting up the snowy blanket that covered the earth again. The uncomfortable silence remained for some time._

_Then, bone-chilling screams gradually rose in volume and pitch from a distance, until the screams were unbearable, calling icily, "December! December!"_

"December!" A woman's screech awoke the girl from her much-needed snooze on the gleaming floor of the Crouch Manor. "December!" The girl, still lying sprawled out in the center of the floor, blinked her eyes sleepily and stretched her arms out. Still dazed and confused, she pushed herself onto her knees. It only dawned on her what she was supposed to be doing when she saw the bucket of lye with a cloth draped on top in front of her. She groaned disappointedly, rubbing her eyes.

That same dream had haunted her ever since she had turned fifteen, four months ago; a dream in which Keilantra had been a beautiful, perfect princess and had sung a romantic song. Only this particular time hadn't ended and awoken with the ending of the song; she had chanted in elvish and then disappeared. The screams had been enough, she was sure, to have awoken every member of the Crouch household, but even more so was the frightening, absolute silence that followed it.

"Ember!" Lady Brunhilde Crouch screamed again from upstairs. Strange enough, she sounded wide awake for eight in the morning.

"I'm coming, Lady Crouch!" December called back weakly, having just awoken. She waved her orders aside momentarily as she continued to ponder her dream.

"Do not deny the princess her rightful place at the throne. Seven years she has been gone, but her time of redemption has come. Watch for—" This was the translation of the chant. December longed to fall asleep again, just to see what the rest of the chant was. "Watch for what?" December thought aloud. "Watch for what?"

"Ember!"

"Sorry!" The girl quickly jumped to her feet and ran to the spiralling staircase. She trotted upstairs and then to the first door down the hall. The sturdy oak door groaned loudly as she pushed it open. The bedroom within was so magnificent and luxurious, December felt green with envy. Compared to her cramped corner in the attic, this place was paradise. All kinds of fancy furniture were scattered around the bedroom, all made beautifully by expert craftsmen, in a theme of deep blue.

The lady was sitting up in the bed, covered with the heavy duvets. With the curtains closed, the room was dark, and the lady's face was hardly visible. December had seen the face only too many times and could imagine the woman standing over her with snapping blue eyes and blonde hair snatched back by a baby blue bow.

"What took you?" If December had been able to see the lady in the dark, she would have seen a scowl on her face. Lateness wasn't tolerated in her household, and patience wasn't even heard of.

"Perhaps it was not I who was late," December began, smiling cheekily. "But the early-thief. I have heard a lot about him, you know, he goes from place—"

"Who was this 'early-thief'?" Lady Brunhilde wrinkled up her large, freckled nose.

December's cheeky smile faded as she realized Lady Brunhilde was not amused, "It was... It was a bee." She shifted her eyes quickly, wondering if she'd spoken her mind a little too much.

Dense as she was, Lady Brunhilde didn't find it amusing, "Well, then. I've been disturbed out of my sleep by a nightmare. Call my angels into my room and then run off to the market to buy us a morning meal."

December coughed politely and quietly asked, "What angels?" An uncomfortable silence followed. "Oh! You mean you little... yes, those... them? Yes, madam. Right away." She curtsied awkwardly and left the room, closing the door behind her. "You mean the swine," she muttered under her breath.

Lady Brunhilde had four of them—four of the pigs she dared to call angels. One could easily tell they were related. Jacqueline was the youngest of them, being a few months older than December. Jacqueline looked more like her father, though, with sandy brown curls, tied up in a purple ribbon.

"Good morning, Lady Jacqueline," December announced, waltzing into the room to open the curtain with a spring in her step. Jacqueline was already awake, sitting up in her bed with the lamp on, reading a book. She looked up from her book and laid it aside.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Ember." December curtsied and began to leave the room, but Jacqueline stopped her. "Wait," she called after her. December turned inquiringly. "Can you please tell me that story again—the one of the elves? I can't seem to find it anywhere; no history books or fairy tales I know have it."

"Certainly," December seated herself on a cushioned chair next to Jacqueline's bed as Jacqueline leaned forward eagerly. "But it is no fairy tale. Every word of this story is the truth, and it happened only seven years ago to an eight-year-old elvish princess."

In fact, the girl of whom December spoke of was herself. She had told the story so often to Jacqueline, who was always attentive, she was sure she would never forget it. The truth was, December wasn't the ravishing blonde-haired, blue-eyes beauty in her dreams. She wasn't that at all.

Matted black hair, smelling of kitchen grease and smoke, hung down her back, covering her point-tipped ears. Blue eyes were an attraction to any woman, but Keilantra's weren't as she dreamed them to be. They were a boring, deep brown mixture of shades; dull after many years of weariness, but one could see a longing deep within them desiring to be bright and excited once more.

During the seven years of war prior to that day, elves were considered a wicked and hated race. Any elf found out would be sent to Klorith to be at the mercy of his Royal Highness, the King Darcy Alrond of Endelia.

The skin of the elves was the color of cinnamon, though December's had become quite pale. She was quite short—shorter than most humans. All elves were. Several traits indicated that this girl was an elf, but as long as her hair hung heavily over her ears, she felt safe—secure. Her hair was her refuge, her hiding place. Luckily, many other races shared some of these traits. It was only the point-tipped ears that hardly a race possessed—only pixies, nymphs, and elves, and one could certainly tell that December was not a nymph or a pixie.

So December began. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman. Her name was Elizabeth Todd. She was born in the town of Klorith, the King's hometown. Everyone knows that.

"Her mother taught her how to do this and that—knitting, embroidery, mending, washing, cleaning, cookery, and other miscellaneous skills every housewife should be familiar with. But the girl could not stay settled—not even for a half hour. Once her mother turned her back, she bolted out the door, all set to play princesses and ogres with the boys. Her mother called her minx, while her father laughed.

"'She's a Todd, my dear. Making her sit down for too long a time is making a fish live on dry land. She has adventure in her blood,' her father would say. Her mother disagreed. 'Any horse can be tamed.' She then would try to think of new ways to control her child.

"As Elizabeth grew into a woman, she desired more adventure than playing games. So she would pack a number of items onto her father's horse, often for hours at a time, sometimes a whole day.

"One morning, Elizabeth told her parents that she wanted to leave the township, much to her mother's horror. 'I want to ride to Iyunthra and Rivatown! I want to see the top of Mount Chasna and walk the length of the River Odano!'

"Her mother gasped. 'You mean the one next to that elvish village? The one next to Amianell?'

"'Yes, yes, yes! That's the one!' Excitement flooded Elizabeth's entire being. 'Mother, don't you see? I need a very long holiday; one with variety and excitement—one in which I can live up to every day.'

"'Once you see the dangers and the boredom of the outside world, will you come home and settle down?' Her mother looked at her hopefully.

"'I mean not to return.' Her mother sank down into a chair, sobbing into the folds of her skirts. She gazed at the girl's father helplessly. The laughter was gone from his eyes and his mouth was a stern line. He walked up to his daughter, and she could see that there were tears in his eyes too.

"Then he did something unexpected. He kissed her forehead with his short, scraggly beard and whispered brokenly, "You have my blessing.' Elizabeth breathed both a sigh of relief and despair together. She hugged her father thankfully. 'I love you, papa.'

"Hurrying over to her heart-broken mother, she knelt before her, pressing her cheek against her hand. She arose and took her mother into her arms. 'I love you so much, mama. Thank you for everything you have taught me.' Her mother clung to her with her entire soul, trembling.

"How she was finally able to leave, I don't know. I only know that once she arrived at Amianell, she was sure that she didn't want to go anywhere else."

December paused, remembering her home. The place was so beautiful and so peaceful. She craved this more than anything else in the world. She took a deep breath and continued.

"The place was beautiful. Houses were made of marble and were at all different levels. Trees and plants surrounded the place, and grew all over. The Odano River ran right through it, magnificent bridges crossing over, with trees draped over them. And laylam hung all over everything."

"What's laylam?" Jacqueline inquired.

"Laylam is an elvish string, used for decoration. The word itself means 'beauty.' Elf craftsmen are very skilled in their occupations. They made laylam in such a manner that it's as light as thread, but as strong as rope. The silver-white, glittery string hangs all over Amianell—in front of the elves' doorways, over the edge of balconies, hanging from trees and gardens. It's beautiful, and at night, the string appears to light up the whole village."

"Sounds beautiful," Jacqueline commented.

"It is. More beautiful than any human can imagine."

"Have you been there?"

December hesitated. "Yes. A long time ago. Before the conflict started.

"The buildings were built, one on top of the other, forming balconies from which grew balroe, an elvish vine. It was so beautiful, it would take years to fully fathom the place.

"A waterfall fell very near to Amianell, causing a gentle mist and a cool breeze to fall over the entire village. Some say that the waterfall has healing powers, so it was called Talra, which means healing.

"Elizabeth fell in love with the place—and with the king, King Asa. His hospitality charmed her; he had offered her a suite in his own home for her to stay.

"'Never trust a human,' Sharagirn, the elf wizard, had warned. The king took no heed to his advice. Four months later, they married.

"Elizabeth forgot about what it was like when she was living with humans. She loved it in Amianell. They soon had a daughter, the princess of Amianell."

"What was her name?" Jacqueline was sitting at the edge of her bed now.

December thought for a while. She remembered a name her father used to call her. No one else had called her that since the beginning of the conflict. "Her name is Emma.

"When the girl was only eight years old, the conflict between man and elf began. No one knows what caused the conflict, but Sharagirn insisted it had something to do with Elizabeth's arrival.

"Hundreds of elves were massacred. They tried to fight back, but they had all of them been taken by surprise and were no match. Along with the hundreds killed was Elizabeth." December paused, closing her eyes. "I don't know what happened to the king, but Emma was kidnapped and forced into slavery. No one has seen or heard of her since."

Jacqueline pondered awhile. "Wouldn't she be found out and killed?"

"I don't know," December leaned forward to look her sternly in the eye. "Would she?"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Next!" King Earl called out loudly to the guards, who were dragging away another helpless elf. They pulled yet another half naked elf up to the dais in chains, waiting for the king to decide what to do with her.

Seated next to the king was a boy about seventeen years of age, with this hand through his sandy brown curls—the prince. He couldn't bear just sitting there day after day watching countless elves being drawn away to hopeless fates.

What's your name?" the king inquired of the girl.

"Alexia," she answered truthfully, hoping desperately not to stir the king's anger. She knelt before him, her wavy blonde hair falling to the middle of her back, ears peaking out. She looked about the king's son's age.

"Do you sing well, Alexia?" the king rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

"That is not for me to decide," Alexia bowed her head humbly.

Earl smiled. "Honest child. No, that is not for you to decide. That is for me to decide. Most elves can sing very well. Sing for me."

Alexia though awhile, then began to sing an elvish song. It was a song most often sung at weddings, by the father, for his daughter.

"Sai abeta tha aya da lero,

Aya tha le ado cherr,

Aya dayron cach thes,

Sur aya nighra yallom blag.

Elero bosamer, sai shreyon.

Zur tha noe ol sai,

"Bapa, knieri elero eihi.

Ol lei sai mutre seebli.

Ol lei da frocelo jeh jissa

Cach thes sai tirk grelm."

Zur sai frocelo, sai sen frocelo.

Donasta doss, brunt:

Sai abeta tha est."

Had the men present understood the meaning of the song, they would've broken down and this conflict could've ended there and then—but it wasn't meant to be. All elves broke down crying, remembering loved ones probably never to be seen again.

But the king couldn't care less what it meant. The singing was perfect, with brilliant trills and long notes held marvellously and high notes reached beautifully and low notes sung smoothly. Everyone was in a stunned silence for a long moment.

"Elijah, what do you think?" Earl broke the silence first, to question his son.

"Father," his voice was strong but gentle and sweet. "You heard it yourself. It was perfect in every way. Only a fool would deny that this girl can sing. I am curious, though," he turned to smile encouragingly at Alexia, "As to what it means exactly."

A hopeful smile flickered across Alexia's fair face. "Zis, zajen," she said quickly. This meant "Yes, sir," or "Yes, master."

"In elvish this means..." she though awhile of the English terms. "This means, "I loved her before you did, before she was even born, before the sun went down, and—"

"You bore me with your endless droning, elf," the king spat the word as if it were a curse. "Guards—"

"Father, stop!" Elijah stopped his father. "She wasn't finished."

Alexia continued, nervously now, her voice beginning to break. "And before the moon shone full. Don't forget, my son. But she said to me—"

"Elijah, please tell me you're finished," King Earl interrupted again.

"No, sir. Alexia, please continue."

Alexia began again, starting to whimper helplessly, "'Father, please don't cry. At least I'm still alright. At least you can't see the tears running down my own face.'"

"Son, you _must _be finished now!"

"Not until she is, father!" Elijah's burst of anger surprised everyone, silencing the whole room. "Alexia! Please finish!"

Alexia did as she was told, half-crying, half-whining everything she said. "But I couldn't, I just couldn't. Remember this, boy: I loved her first."

The last phrase held Elijah's tongue. It reminded him of his sister, whom had disappeared when he was just three years old. It was the king who spoke first.

"Her voice _was _beautiful then, wasn't it?" he pondered aloud. "Take her away and cut out her neck. We will see what she possesses inside herself that makes her sing so perfectly."

"Don't!' Elijah leapt to his feet.

"Sit down, Elijah. You know very well what this race has done to deserve this." Elijah hesitantly sat down, watching the girl be dragged screaming from the room, calling out for help, or whatever she was saying.

"Mu! Elero! Knieri, elero! Sai le jema acras. Sai mami le tallor, zur sai bapa le acor!"

"Stop jabbering! Get her out of here!" The king shook his fist at her.

"No!" Alexia tried again. "The princess! She comes! Seven years!" It was in vain. The girl was dragged out to the execution courtyard, where, with a swing and a chop, not another shriek was heard, and she never got to see her own happily ever after.

The prince leapt from his chair again and stormed from the room, his velvet cape dragging behind him. Earl called after him, but he continued.

"Come sit down, boy! You need to learn that not everyone is as innocent as they appear!" The king called. Elijah carried on, pushing through the many guards, courtiers, and other attendees of the assembly to get to the back of the room, where the door was. "You are weak!"

Elijah stopped short. _Was_ he weak? When it came down to something important, would he prove himself to be a weakling? He turned his head slightly to see an elf child, bound in chains, whimpering, awaiting his turn to die. "Mami... mami." Elijah softened. A strong man does _not _take vengeance on a child! He marched toward the guard holding the boy.

"Unlock this one."

"But, sire—"

"My orders!" The guard quickly took out his keys and fumbled through them before he unlocked the chains, showing red welts on the little boy's wrists. Elijah rubbed them gently then took the boy up in his arms and proceeded to the back of the room, opening the giant hallway double doors and exiting them, then continuing up the grand staircase, through the snaking passages and into his chambers with the boy.

**A/N: Well... What do you think? Sorry it took so long to get this up here, but I've finally done it and I personally think it's a whole lot better than last time. So... please review. Even if you have already on my other one, I'd appreciate if you'd review on this one too, just to let me know that you read it, ok? And remember... FREE MUFFINS FOR ANYONE WHO GIVES ME A NICE LONG REVIEW! Ok, that's about all. **

**Luv, Izzy**


	2. I've Wasted All My Life

**A/N: I have officially changed the names of Keilantra and Jerrold to December and Elijah. I still haven't thought of he name of the story, but it's fine as it is for now. Let me know what you think. Please, I really appreciate all your reviews. I like to read them and try to reply to them as much as I can. Remember, I add everyone who reviews to my alert list so that I can contact you later and remind you to read the next chapter. :)**

**Luv, Izzy**

2. I've wasted all my Life

The walk from the Crouch manor to Ceitha marketplace was about an hour's walk there and back. So after December had awoken the other three "angels", Genevieve, Gwenevere and Gwendalyn, she hurried out the door.

A hooded cape must cover her head every time she had to leave, partly for warmth, partly for protection, and partly for hiding her dirty face, marred with scratches and burns. Some of which bled down her face for which she could not resist lifting her dirty nails to scratch, then smearing reddish-brown smudges across her face. A rucksack filled with bronze coins she stuffed into her pocket as she took off.

The thick blanket of snow made it even harder to walk and December had to lift her knees to her chest to even move anywhere. If she hadn't had the thick wool stockings underneath her petticoats and the boots that laced up to her ankles, worn out as they were, she probably wouldn't be going to the marketplace, no matter how much Lady Brunhilde pushed, prodded, pummelled, and punished. It was that cold.

Since the snow had just fallen a few days earlier, it was still soft and she sank deep with every step. She had to march steadily like this the whole way, until she reached the marketplace, where the snow had been shovelled away, to make room for people walking by.

The place was crowded, people all over the walkways and all over the long street that stretched between the shops, since no one bothered to drive their carts during this time of year anyway. Snow covered the rooftops and the wooden signposts and the tall lamp posts. The whole place sounded busy—people talking, bells ringing, shopkeepers parking their stands outside shouting out their goods, a fiddler playing a merry tune nearby for some money—all was happy.

December stared around at all the stores in the marketplace smiling, her eyes alight with excitement. The windows were filled with all sorts of things—toys, clothes, food, furniture, tools, magic items; the list was endless. Envy overcame her as she pressed her face against the ice-cold, fogged-up windows of shop after shop. She came to the General Goods Store and stopped outside, pulling out her rucksack to count her coins.

Before she could take one out and hold it in her hand, something banged into her arm, sending her to the cold ground. She rolled over and looked up to see a boy, probably sixteen or seventeen, on top of her. "Very sorry, miss," he muttered, quickly jumping up and taking off again.

When December came to her senses, she sat up to see what was left of her coins which she had dropped as she fell. They were gone. A second later, a mob of angry townspeople rushed past her, yelling, waving tools and utensils. December jumped up to join them. That boy must've stolen her coins!

Her fury fuelled her run, then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him turn a corner and head into a silversmith's store. The mob sped past, scattering to search for him. Slowing to a stride, she walked toward the shop where he had turned into. She was intent on retrieving her rucksack.

The boy's head peered out the door, dark auburn hair bouncing. He then exited the store, strolling along casually, the sack's long strap hanging out his back pocket. December walked briskly to catch up with him, then gingerly touched his arm.

"Now what do you want?" He swung around, and then a surprised look met his face when he saw a small, dark girl with a black hood staring up at him with her deep brown eyes. "Angel?" he stared at her for a while. "I thought you were..." He seemed to tremble. December looked confused.

"My name isn't Angel," she said. "I—"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I—"

"Oh," he looked disappointed. "Well, then, can I help you miss…" He paused questioningly.

"Miss Shonti," December managed.

"Miss Shonti," he repeated. "Sounds peculiar. Where are you from?"

"Just here—in Ceitha," December stared at the ground, shuffling her feet shyly.

"Oh. Can I help you?"

"Yes," December began. She took a breath. "I think you took my bag." Then she quickly added, "I mean, by accident, of course! I just realized it was missing and thought I would—"

"Don't have a bag. Sorry," he turned to leave.

"Please wait!" December ran after him and stood in his path. "I saw it. In your back pocket."

He pulled the sack out of his pocket. "But this is mine."

"No, sir. I think you must have gotten your bag confused with some other."

"Are you contradicting me?"

"No!" December immediately assured him. "It's just that I lost my bag and I really, really need it."

"You best go search for it then," he spun her around and gave her a gently push, but she turned back around to face him again.

"I have. Searched for it, I mean." She pointed at the bag he clutched. "I found it."

"This isn't your bag, Miss Shonti," the boy replied, still calmly.

"Yes, it is! I really think you must stop bluffing, zajen! I need that money!" She pointed a dirty accusing finger at his face. He seemed shocked for a moment.

"Just wondering," he paused. "Are you Miss or Mrs. Shonti?"

"Do not change the subject, sir. I need that sack—right now," she muttered.

"Answer me first," he crossed his arms on his chest.

"Miss. Give me the bag now," she tapped her foot impatiently.

"I might," he teased her. "Come to the tent next to the bakery tonight at… eight."

"No!"

"Your voice goes high when you're angry."

"Give me that!" She reached to snatch the sack out of his hands, but his grip was firm. He smirked. "Fine," she muttered, and he released the bag.

"Promise?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, alright? I will."

"At a girl," he patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave. Did he think her to be some dog that he should be able to treat her this way? The more she thought about it, the more it fed her anger.

"Wait," she caught his arm.

"Yes, sunshine?" he turned around. She wanted to spit on him.

"Why would you want _me_ to come?" She tried to control herself, but not to the point where she imagined dragon droppings falling on top of him. She tried to keep her face straight.

"I'm a simple man with simple needs, ok?" She looked him over. He_ did _look simple—dirty rags for his breeches and shirt, dirt smeared over his whole body, dark auburn hair probably overgrown with lice.

"What if I told you that I wasn't that simple?"

He scoffed, examining her dirty excuse for a dress, her black cape riddled with holes, and her dirty, scarred face. "How complicated could you possibly be?"

That stung. December watched him walk away with intense odium for him. Tears stung in her eyes and her arms dropped lifelessly against her sides. Men and women shoved past her as if she were non-existent, but she stood her ground, pondering deeply.

She suddenly snapped to as she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She turned around and started shoving through crowds of people to get to the general goods store. Insults flew at her, but she paid no heed.

The bell atop the door rung as December stepped into the shop, stomping the snow off of her boots.

"Ah, good morning, Ember!" the shopkeeper welcomed her.

"Morning, George!" December smiled, shivering from the cold. "It's freezing today, isn't it?" She made her way toward the inviting fireplace, warming her hands.

"Yes, it is; by far the coldest day of winter up to now," he leaned on the bench and poured the bronze coins onto the bench, catching one here and here that tried to topple onto the floor. "I need as much breakfast foods as this can buy."

George sighed. "Is that cow bossing you around again? I told you—don't let her wipe her feet on you like that. If you—"

"George, please!"

"Yes, right away," he began hustling around the area behind the bench, collecting her money's worth of eggs, fruit, meat, and brad. "I'm telling you dear, if you run away from that place, you could work for me, you know."

"George!"

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, putting all the condiments into a basket and putting them on the bench. He then threw a pair of wool gloves into the basket. "A little gift from me to you," he winked. "Your hands are turning blue. And don't let the witches steal them from you again."

"Ghada-ghada," December smiled thankfully, pulling the gloves over her hands.

"Don't tell me! That means thank you, hey? I once thought that 'thattu' meant thank you." He rubbed his red bearded chin.

December laughed. "That means go away, silly. You wouldn't get along well if you met up with an elf."

"As if I'd want to meet up with those wretched creatures," he spat, and then bent down to clean it up. December winced. George was her _friend._ "I don't see why anyone should bother to learn their language like you do."

"I learn it so that I can pick up important information if I ever need to," she lied.

George nodded, grinning. "I always knew you were a clever one, Ember. Very clever. Now run along before Lady Bunhide gets angry and yells at you—the breath would probably kill you first."

"It's Lady _Brunhilde_," she corrected, but she was giggling. December grabbed the basket and hurried out the door, George chuckling behind her.

_George, _December smiled. She knew that he meant well, no matter what he said or did. She ran through all the people, keeping an eye on her basket so nothing would fall out and a hand on her head so her hood wouldn't fly back.

She reached the outskirts of the marketplace, where the snow was heavier, and began to place her foot carefully, following the steps she took to get out there. The gloves worked very well—December was most grateful for them. They kept her hands warm as she ran the length home, lifting her knees up to her chest and stomping into each deep footprint, holding tight to the basket. She would be lucky if she got back in enough time to prepare the meal.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

The dining room was crowded, as it was every meal, with every important member of the royal household seated around the long dining table, but they were unusually quiet, after the events of the day before. They knew the king wouldn't tolerate the noise at the moment. Even after the occasional clink of the silverware against the dishes, everyone looked up cautiously at the king, wondering if it had disturbed him; but the king wasn't paying attention. He was deep in thought about what to do with his son, the future king of Endelia, caring for _elves._

Elijah didn't know what to do with the elf child he had rescued the day before. He was left in Elijah's room, where he couldn't get into trouble. Jerrold _had_ thought about what the child would eat, and he slowly and quietly pulled a honey bun off the table and into his robe's pocket. Abruptly, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'm finished," he announced.

"Sit down, boy," the king commanded. Elijah slowly sat down again. "Your mother and I need to have a talk with you," All eyes were focused on Elijah. Earl stared them down until they turned away and began to chatter to each other, filling the room with liveliness again. "I think that the reason for all your…" he pondered on the right word. "_Questionable _behavior would be that you are unsettled and lovesick. So, in a few months, I will hold a ball at the palace. I will invite all the princesses, ladies and courtiers possible. You are to have a bride by that night, whether by your own choice, or by mine. Is this clear?"

"Yes, father," Elijah muttered. "May I invite some of my own choice as well?"

"I must approve of them first. I don't want you inviting some of the peasants like last time. The event was a disaster." He shuddered.

"Thank you," Elijah rose again. "I'm finished now." He marched out of the room and through the winding passages to his chambers. He approached the door cautiously, aware of the guards around him. He slowly opened the door a driblet, slipped in, and then slowly closed the door.

He turned around and panic overcame him. He didn't know what to do with the child on his bed, his father was killing off all the elves, and now he wanted him _married!_

"Come, Aaron," Elijah called to the little elf, who had called himself Aaron. He crawled to the edge of the giant bed and slid off, running over to the Prince and standing in front of him. The boy had cinnamon skin, like most elves, and his hair was dark brown, mingled with blonde, in curls that hung over his eyes. Elijah had ordered the royal seamstress to make some little clothes, and now he looked just fine, in his little tights and doublet with a red robe hanging off his shoulders.

Elijah pulled the honey bun from his pocket and gave it to him. Aaron took it eagerly and looked up at Jerrold. "Ghada-ghada, fallom zajen."

Elijah shook his head. "I wish I understood." He went down on his knees so that he was eye-level with the boy. "I promise I'll protect you as long as I am able." Aaron smiled and stuffed the treat into his mouth.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

BANG! The loud noise of the door slamming open as December ran into the manor sounded throughout the entire household. She darted into the house, catching her dress and tearing it. Ripping herself free, she made a dash to the kitchen, catching her dress again. "Terri!" she squealed, putting the basket on the kitchen bench as the cook spun around, eyes alert. "Terri! Terri!" She hunched over, leaning on her knees, trying to catch her breath. "Make… breakfast… big… quick."

Terri understood quickly and took the ingredients from the basket and making whatever she could with them as December sprawled herself flat on the floor, panting heavily.

"Get up, girl!" Terri kicked her foot and December jumped up. "Chop these fruits, then throw these pixie legs into the pot. When you're done with that, boil these pigeon eggs." Keilantra did what she was told, often getting under way of the plump cook. Terri's gray curls lay all over her face, and her sleeves were rolled up her chubby arms, as she had just finished cooking breakfast for the entire household of servants.

In half an hour, the work was done, and all the food was loaded onto a few trays. December took two into her arms and made her way up the stairs. She pushed the door open with her back. The five ladies were all over the room, fast asleep. She put the trays onto the carved oak table in the middle of the room and took a look at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten. She climbed onto the side table beneath it and set it back to eight-thirty. She then jumped down and ran to fetch the rest of the trays.

When she had placed all of the trays on the table, the table contained a buffet fit for a queen—assorted fruits in golden syrup, forty pigeon eggs, fried pixie legs, jelly buns, strawberry tarts, slices of ham, rice, cream trifle, and fresh cranberry juice. Then she woke each of them up in turn.

She had to awake them in order, as she had learnt; else everything would go in disarray. If she perhaps awoke Lady Brunhilde before Lady Gwendolyn, Lady Brunhilde would punish her for letting her favorite little darling fall asleep; if she awoke Lady Gwenevere before any of them, she would devour the food in a trice.

So she awoke Lady Jacqueline first, since she was the most patient of them. She lay sleeping on a chair, hunched over. "Lady Jacqueline," December whispered, softly nudging her. "Wake up. Breakfast is ready." Jacqueline awoke, yawned and rubbed her eyes, stretching.

"Okay, December," she sat up straight. Genevieve was on asleep the edge of the bed. If Genevieve was woken after Gwendolyn, she would have another outburst. Not only was Genevieve the shortest-tempered, she was the most beautiful of the Crouch daughters. December could only dream of being as beautiful as she—the perfect blue eyes, like the water from a sparkling, limpid pool, and the perfect wheat-colored tresses and high cheekbones gracing her face. Decemberr gently tapped her.

"Lady Genevieve, wake up," December poked her, then poked her harder. She began to shake her until Genevieve flickered her eyes open. Keilantra left her alone to fully awaken and proceeded to awaken Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn wasn't as pretty as Genevieve, nor as flirtatious, and the fact that she was already twenty years of age and not yet married proved that. Long dark brown hair fell down her back and freckles were sprinkled across her nose. Her lips were large and full, and her mother had always assured and reassured her that they were beautiful and tempting.

December clapped her hands in front of Gwendolyn's face and she snapped awake. "Lady Gwendolyn, breakfast is ready." Gwendolyn nodded and sat up on the edge of her mother's bed, where she had been lying at the foot.

Then she awoke Lady Brunhilde, the headmaster of the pigs, in which she had to sprinkle water from the wash basin in the corner.

Finally, she had to awaken Gwenevere, who had just sprawled herself on the floor, snoring loudly. Her chubby arms were spread wide, and her stubby legs were folded underneath her. Dark brown hair was matted all over on the top of her head and her nightgown looked most disturbing in the position she was in.

She was the hardest to awaken. Even after shaking her, splashing her with water, and pinching her she wouldn't awaken. December looked around cautiously. The rest of them were still half asleep. She then abruptly slapped Gwenevere smartly across the face. The sound of skin resounding on fat got everyone out of bed, and Gwenevere slowly began to sit up.

"Lady Gwenevere, breakfast is ready," December told her, getting off her knees now that her duty was done. Gwenevere's eyes widened and she leapt up, running to the table to grab a third of the saucer of pixie legs, three jelly buns, eight pigeon eggs, and four slices of ham, all meshed together between her two giant hands.

"December!" Lady Brunhilde stood up and walked toward her. December looked at the old lady towering over her, intimidated. "Why are there no dishes and no cutlery here? How do you expect these lovely young ladies to eat their food like _this?_ Just _look _at poor Gwenevere! She has to eat it with her hands! Her _hands!_" Gwenevere had already stuffed a quarter of her meal into her mouth.

"So sorry, lady," December apologized innocently. "I was just going to get them now." She turned around and ran out the door and back to the kitchen to gather the dishes and silverware from Terri, retelling what had happened.

"Did she really say that?" Terri raged. "Unbelievable! 'Poor' child! If that witch is poor, then I'm married to a caterpillar. They don't deserve what they've got! You might want to hurry, dear, before she finishes it all with her _hands_!"

December nodded and made her final trip to the bedroom, placing the utensils on the table. Then they all tucked in, without a word. It was a grotesque sight, especially Gwenevere, whose food barely travelled from the serving dish to her saucer before it was stuffed into her mouth, washing it all down with cranberry juice.

Genevieve was the next one, chewing but once or twice before she swallowed. Lady Brunhilde wasn't necessarily hard to watch, but she was messy, crumbs falling from her mouth and all over her bed, and sauce dribbling down the corners of her mouth. Jacqueline was a steady eater, barely pausing to take a breath before her next bite, avidly spooning it all into her mouth, pausing occasionally to dab the sides of her mouth with a napkin.

Lady Gwendolyn would have to be the most polite, having had personal tutors teach her etiquette, which the rest of the girls were still attempting to learn. She daintily took the cutlery in her hands and nibbled the food bit by bit, occasionally sipping her cranberry juice.

But the noise of the lot was unbearable! Crunching, slurping, swallowing, and the disgusting noise of Gwenevere's stomach haunted December. She decided to look at the floor instead and try to ignore it all. She wasn't sure whether they wanted her to leave or stay to clean up afterwards.

She must've begun to daydream, because when they had finished breakfast, she was still staring at the floor, counting the many colorful fibers of the carpet. They began to get up and move around, talking and getting dressed and ready for the day.

"Wake up, wench!" Gwendolyn shook December out of her daydream. "Clean up this mess and get to the rest of your chores!" December looked at the vast mess they had made during the absence of her mind in disbelief. Then she nodded and began to stack the empty dishes together. She stacked the trays one on top of the other and put the rest of the dishes and cutlery on the top. Terri would have quite a job to do.

When she arrived at the kitchen and Terri saw the dishes in her arms, she gave a sigh of exasperation. "Just put them there, dear," she pointed to the tub of water on the floor.

"I think they left half their breakfast on the floor upstairs."

"Sounds just like them. Go clean it up," Terri began to wash the dishes as December grabbed a rag and a bucket of water and went upstairs.

She tossed the cloth into the bucket, took it out and began to scrub the food stain out of the expensive purple carpet. The ladies ran to and fro, dragging heavy gowns around before throwing them on the floor in disgust and hurrying to find a different one. December stood up to see dresses lying on the sticky table. She winced, lifting up a dress with one finger and saw the food sticking to it underneath.

She felt like gagging, but took the dresses into her arms anyway and put them aside to clean later. She wiped the table off and stripped the bed of its covers. Then she gathered up the gowns and the duvet and left the room, leaving the ladies to fight over which gown went with whose eyes and which broach would make who fall over.

She ran the heavy load downstairs, almost collapsing from the weight. She dragged them outside, gathering dirty snow and threw them down in the collection of other dirty clothes, cloths, and blankets. "Penelope," December got the woman's attention and pointed toward the new addition to her family of laundry to wash.

"Ugh!" the short woman screeched. She tugged on her long blondish-gray braids and kicked the snow up. December awkwardly turned to leave, but Penelope began to rant. "I stand out here all day, every day, cleaning, scrubbing, and washing! I clean for everyone in this household and just as I think I'm almost caught up in the laundry, more comes! And I'm freezing my rear out here, even though I believe I have at least eight petticoats and two under dresses and wool stockings! I don't understand why I don't just leave and find another home to work at!"

"Penelope, Lady Crouch is giving you your pay this afternoon," December reminded her.

"Alright, then," She turned back to work and began to scrub again. "December, take this," she handed her a basket of clean servants' dresses. "And when you're done, bring me another bucket of hot water from the kitchen."

"Sure," December turned and headed back into the manor, and climbed up the stairs, to the end of the hall, and up the ladder into the cramped servants' quarters. There she laid all the dresses on whoever's beds they belonged. She lowered herself down the ladder and turned to see Gwenevere right in front of her.

"Ember, it's an emergency! Take my horse and run to fetch Darren! Hurry!" She turned and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door. Darren was the boy courting her. He had been courting her for four years. Keilantra shoved that aside temporarily and went to the kitchen to fetch Penelope's water from the stove.

"Here, Penny," she called as she hauled the bucket our and poured it into the large washtub.

"Good girl," Penelope had evidently calmed down a good deal.

Cinnamon had already been saddled and prepared for riding when December arrived at the stable. Bobby, the stable boy was there, grooming the other horses. He adjusted his beret and smoothed his dirty clothes before he approached her. "Hi, December," he muttered quietly.

"Hi, Bobby," she walked toward Cinnamon and he followed. "May I take her?" She gestured toward the chestnut-colored mare.

"Yes, of course," Bobby replied. "You're looking very nice today, Ember."

"Ghada-ghada," she smiled at him and undid the look on Cinnamon's pen.

"It sounds pretty when you say that, December," he blushed. December took a deep breath as she mounted Cinnamon. She silently screamed as she looked at the ground—it seemed so far away. She took up the reins in her hands and walked the horse out of the pen, her eyes widening with the daunted swaying.

"Wait, Ember," he called after her before she left the stable. "Could you do something for me? We're out of hay for the horses, and I was wondering if you could—"

"_More chores_," December rolled her eyes.

"I could do it for you if you want!" Bobby quickly assured her. "You don't want to break your fragile back hauling—"

"It's fine, Bobby. I'll do it," she spurred Cinnamon out of the stable and onto the road. "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered to herself. The horse began to trot, then she spurred it faster and faster, her knuckles white from gripping the reins. She felt herself slipping of the saddle and began to scream, pulling herself up and gripping the horse's neck, holding on for all she was worth.

Of all her incidents she had had while riding on a horse, never before had she been so sure that she was going to die as this time. She pulled herself properly into the saddle, trying to find the stirrups, only to find she was slipping again. She was relieved to see Darren's manor coming nearer.

"Whoa!" she shouted above her panicking thoughts. She tugged tight on Cinnamon's reins and Cinnamon halted suddenly, almost throwing December off. Her eyes showed a look of panic as Cinnamon flung her forward against her neck, before December leaned back in the saddle. She took a deep breath of exhaustion, fright, and relief. Then she swung her leg over and lowered herself onto the ground, solid ground.

**A/N: OK, so I didn't get my five reviews, and I decided to continue anyway. I **_**am**_** going to get those five reviews. That's right. So nobody gets muffins until I get those reviews. Understand? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please tell me what you think about the new characters (George, Aaron, Bobby, etc), and the new settings (not exactly new, but different), and the new characteristics of the characters. I want long reviews, people. I don't mind constructive criticism either. Thanks, guys. **

**Luv, Izzy**

**Review Replies**

_**Midnight Pearls**_**: I can't wait until I update either. :D**

_**InChrist-Billios**_**: Thank you very much. Here's a muffin. (throws muffin) Rest assured that I will be including her language a lot in this story. I've even started writing an elvish dictionary. Yay!**

_**ReviewsR4Me**_**: As I have said, I've made some changes. I didn't want to make the chapter too long, so I have put the rest in this chapter.**


	3. The Truth is Sharper than a Knife

**A/N: Yay! I got my five reviews! Muffins for everyone! Ok, as for names, I have changed Keilantra to December, Jerrold to Elijah, and Dimitri to Dimitri. Hooray! I love all my reviewers!! I love you!! Mwa!! Please don't stop reviewing!**

**Luv, Izzy**

3. The Truth is Sharper than a Knife

"Let's see… 'The subsequent invite is in favor of Prince Elijah Alrond, heir to the throne, son of King Earl Alrond of Endelia, honoring the King's decision for the Prince to wed,'" Elijah winced at the choice of words, leaning back on the backboard of his giant bed.

"'Your presence is requested… every unmarried young maiden… by order of the king… a formal event… proper dress is compulsory… a racial variety… The preceding invitation is for…'" Elijah scanned the invitation printed on fancy paper. "'Lord Geoffrey Wilder and household.'" He slipped the invitation into an envelope and wrote the name on that. It was placed on the tall stack of invites to be sent to those living in Klorith.

"Aaron, don't touch that!" Elijah jumped up and snatched the boy's hands away from the flaming fireplace.

"Thattu! Sai blise mami!" The boy turned his back and ran to another corner of the room.

"You're welcome," Elijah muttered sarcastically. "No!" He ran to snatch a glass crown out of his hands. "That was my grandmama's! Don't touch!" He put it out of his reach.

Aaron began to whimper. Elijah sighed and ran his hand over his face "Aaron, I didn't mean that."

"Da le mu sai mami!" Aaron yelled and ran to Elijah's bed to hide himself under the covers.

"Aaron, I know you miss your mami, but she's probably dead, alright?" He continued, gritting his teeth. "And I'm doing you a favor by taking care of you. It's not easy."

"Thattu," a muffled voice said from beneath the covers. Elijah sighed.

"I know what you need. Some chocolate. Shipments of it are beginning to come in from overseas, you know."

Aaron's head peered out from under the duvet. "Chocilatt?" He crawled out and looked inquiringly at Elijah.

"Oh! Yes! Chocilatt!" Elijah assured the boy.

"Chocilatt! Chocilatt!" Aaron jumped up and down and clapped his hands, making Elijah smile. Elijah picked him up and put him in his large, cushioned chair next to the glass table.

"Wait here,' he commanded, turning to leave the room. He ran the length to the royal kitchen and commanded the cook breathlessly. "Give me chocolate, now." The cook nodded, ran into the pantry, and brought back a box filled with chocolates.

Elijah took them and started to run off again. "Son!" The king's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Where are you going with those chocolates?" He approached him.

"To my room," Elijah muttered impatiently.

"Elijah, they just came in from Trestra. They are for the guests on the night of the ball."

"But I _need _them," Elijah argued.

"Elijah, you can't—"

"I'll buy a replacement box, father. Promise," he said, running off again. He made it to his room and slammed the door. Not to his surprise, Aaron wasn't where he had left him, and the curtains were strewn across the floor, with a large lump underneath them.

"Aaron, come out. You're worse than a dog," he lifted the curtains, but saw the lump was actually his pillow. "Aaron? Where are you?" He scanned the room. "I brought chocilatt!" There wasn't a sign of him. He checked in his closet, and under the bed. What if he had left the room? He would be captured by the guards and killed! Elijah turned to run out the door, but the dresser suddenly creaked and sighed. Elijah opened the bottom drawer, seeing Aaron asleep amongst his undergarments, his grandmother's crown clutched tightly in one hand.

Elijah gently pried it out of his hand and placed it back on top of the dresser. "Aaron," Elijah shook his shoulder gently. "Want chocilatt?"

"Chocilatt!" Aaron squealed, sitting straight up, hitting his head on the drawer above. "Ordu," he muttered as he rubbed his head.

"Ouch," Elijah agreed, pulling him out of the drawer and placing him on the chair. He placed the box on his lap and returned to his bed, to write out the rest of the invitations.

"I think Klorith, Iyunthra, Rivatown, Rasendron, Trakaseth, Torron, and Hitatrey are done. Now how about that tiny town of Ceitha?"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"You mean she just summoned me? Like a servant?"

"No. She said she needed you. She said it was an emergency."

"Did she say what it was?"

"No. But she said you need to hurry," Ember admired Darren—he was a Hitatreyon; they had the same color skin as elves. He was a handsome young man. Talented, as well. He could speak Endelian, Hitatreyon and Iyunthraean.

He thought awhile, biting his lip. "Come with me," he led the way to his stables. Ember followed. He brought out a beautiful white horse. "Ready?" She nodded. He mounted himself onto the horse, and then she mounted behind him, gripping his waist. "_What are you doing?_"

"I have a confession—I'm not very good at riding."

"No kidding. What about your horse?"

"She'll follow. Won't you, Cinnamon?" she called out the horse and the horse started her way. "See?"

"Alright. Hold on." He spurred his horse to a gallop.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Gwen! Where are you?" Darren slammed the door open and ran up the stairs. December, leaving them to their affairs, ran out to fetch the bale of hay Bobby had needed.

It was _heavy_. She gripped the rope tying it up and pulled it off the stack. Then she began to drag it across the snowy field.

"Need help?" Farmer Johns asked, stepping out of the gardening shed.

"No," December smiled at him. "No, I think I got it."

"Alright," he rubbed his beard. "Then when you get over there, could you please bring me one of those blankets? My horse is dying of cold."

Ember rolled her eyes, but turned back to him smiling, and agreed.

"Here, Bobby," she dragged the hay bale into the stable, shaking the snow off her head and shoulders, and stomping out her boots.

Bobby swung around from feeding one of the horses an apple. "Oh, thank you, Ember. Thank you so much."

She took a deep breath. "Jiikara."

"I like it when you speak Elvish, December." She took a blanket off of the shelf, smiled at Bobby, and then left, running across the snowy field. She handed the blanket to Farmer Johns when she reached the shed and, without a word, ran back into the manor.

Darren suddenly pushed past her, stomping angrily out the door. Gwenevere followed him, squealing, "Darren, no! Please come back!"

December shook her head, confused, and went into the kitchen for something to eat. Terri was there, preparing lunch. When she saw December, she rushed over to her. "Dear, I'm out of eggs. Fetch some from Farmer Johns, will you?" Ember groaned and left the kitchen.

The day continued that way, one errand added before the last one was even completed. When she found some free time that evening, she ran upstairs and up the ladder into the servants' quarters and to her mat before anyone could send her to do something else. She felt the urge to make herself look reasonably nice this night. She had only two dresses, and the other one was being washed, so she quickly dusted the one she was wearing.

She took of her dirty apron, riddled with the day's work. She scrubbed her face, and tried to brush her matted, dirty hair. It was near impossible, so she braided it, but found that her ears showed that way. She looked over to Farmer Johns' mat, where a neat gray beret lay. Sure that he wouldn't mind, she grabbed it and put it on her head, pulling it down so that it covered the top half of her ears.

December then pulled her most precious possession out from under her pillow, fingering it lovingly—it was a bow. Made expertly out of oak by the elves in her village, it had tiny designs of fairies dancing and twirling in the woods, embedded with several tiny emeralds and sapphires and rubies. Hair from a unicorn's tail was used for a string, strong and durable and sparkling in the light.

She smiled and traced the fairies' movements with her little fingernail. This had been her father's seventh birthday gift for her. She strapped it to her back. It was dangerous at night; she might have to use it.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Walking, stumbling, on her little feet, Ember crept through the eerie manor. Her heart was pounding her more and more awake, clueless of what would happen next. With each step, the stairs creaked mercilessly, as her eyes darted cautiously around her. She could sense something wrong. There was a stench in the air—musky, crisp—it stank of that beggar boy.

She felt like a mouse, creeping, hiding from its predator—the hawk. This time the hawk was the darkness, the silence. It had made December its prey. She wrapped her cloak more securely around herself, eyes wide, leaping at every hint of motion. She finally felt the firm floor at the bottom of the stairway and sighed, relieved.

She ran across the smooth, marble entrance toward the door. She turned the brass door handle ever so slowly. It clicked menacingly as she pushed the door open. It creaked, December wincing until the door was wide enough for her to squeeze through. She slowly pushed the door shut and leaned her forehead against it, eyes closed.

Only a fool would sneak around a manor old as this _at night_, let alone _outside_. She was not normally a person who kept her word, but this was a thing of such relevance—a boy, a beggar no less, had hurt her pride. She was absolutely certain he would hunt her down one way or another and devour her if she didn't show up.

Knowing she was among the impoverished of Endelia burned deep in her. It scorched whatever dignity she had left to know that _she _was inferior to _them_. Now she had let a beggar, of her own status or lower, walk on top of her, rubbing his dirty feet in her face.

She sighed. She had made it outside—relieved. She now had to make it to the marketplace, at night—annoyed, disappointed, scared. Her eyes fluttered open, still focused on the cold frame of the door, adjusting to the darkness. Her head turned around, slowly, and her body followed it. Above her, the moon had its eye fixed on her, suspicious of something, it wouldn't look away.

_Don't tell_, she pleaded. It still glared, flaunting its great radiance in her face, blanching her more. _Fine. _She began tramping through the snow, its breath violently icing her nose and hands. It had better be worth it to have to fight through this icy gale.

She reached the fate, but when her fingers touched the latch, she drew back suddenly. It was so cold! She feared her fingers would numb if she tried to open it. She knelt and her fingers nimbly undid the latch before she shoved her hands in her pockets, bouncing the gate open with her hip and sprinting out onto the dirt road.

The snow was getting thicker. It was up to her thighs now and she almost had to _climb _through the snow. Her eyes began to water and she put her head down, pushing against the wind, against the snow, toward her fate.

She hummed to herself, the small, sweet tune getting whisked away by the wind, getting tossed back and forth and toyed with, echoing, until it vanished completely. Then the wind whispered for more.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Boy?" December whispered harshly. "Where are you?" She was numbed straight through her skin looking for this thief of whom she didn't even know his name. The tent by the bakery? Wasn't that what he had said? She couldn't take much more of the cold.

The snow she stood on was pulling her down the longer she stood. Creaking signposts squeaked at her and shadows reached out, trying to claw at her. She was sure she heard footsteps following her, chasing her. There it was—the bakery. The signpost creaked back and forth with the wind, a picture of a fresh loaf of bread painted on it. There was a small gap between it and the next store; a small gap big enough to set up a small tent. A soft light seemed to glow from that gap. She cautiously approached it.

A small fire was the source of the gentle glow. It sat in the center of the dirt, faintly lit. Behind it was a tent, stained and creased, fairly large—large enough to fit about three or four people comfortably.

"Boy?" she said softly. "I'm here." She looked around, but saw no one, heard nothing but the chilling wind. "Sorry I'm late." Still nothing. "Are you here?" She sighed with frustration and seated herself beside the fire, warming herself. She would have to start for home soon, after she had rested, since the boy wasn't where he said he'd be.

A loud snort suddenly startled her and she jumped up. "Who's there?" She breathed heavily, glancing around. The noise was from outside of the tent. She then heard a soft whinny and a large black horse emerged and lay next to the fire, keeping a wary eye on her.

"Chirdamt," she muttered, backing out slowly.

"I'm pretty sure you just swore there."December actually found herself relieved to hear the boy's voice as his head peered out of the tent. "You're only an hour or so late." December said nothing as he crawled out and seated himself beside her. "But that's alright."

December still said nothing, turning her head slightly in the opposite direction. The boy looked at her, waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he spoke up. "I don't think I've introduced myself properly. Hi, my name is Dimitri." He pointed to his horse. "That's my horse, Rhonda." Still silence. He tried again. "I don't know if I've mentioned it, but hi, I'm Dimitri and that's my—"

"December," she finally spoke up. "My name is December. Ember, if you like."

His face lit up. "December? It's pretty."

"Thanks."

"So you're how old?"

She thought about it. "Fifteen since October. You?"

"Can't remember. Las time I counted I was…" he pondered, counting on his fingers. "Six."

December's eyes widened in amusement, revealing the dark crescents underneath them more clearly. "Can't you even remember your own birth date?"

He shook his head. "Never really had one. Mother would usually tell me when I was a year older."

"What happened to her?" December was about to regret asking, but he answered quickly.

"She died. Father too."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she hugged her knees to her chest. "My parents died too."

"Then where do you live?"

"I'm a slave," she shrugged. "I work for my food and board."

"Must be hard, eh?"

She looked around. "Probably not as hard as living out here."

"It's alright once you get used to it."

She looked at him, shivering. "I'm not used to it," she whispered.

"Would you like a blanket?" he looked amused.

"That would be nice."

"Hang on," he crawled inside the tent and came back out with a thick, linen blanket. "There you go," he wrapped it around her and sat down beside her. "Better?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"And is her highness hungry too?"

"A little."

He sighed, crawling back into the tent and coming out again with a box. "Leftovers," he muttered. He opened the box and drew out a piece of meat, handing it to her. She devoured it, glad to sink her teeth into something besides old bread and soup.

"You eat like a wolf," he observed.

She shrugged. "You have to where I come from."

"I thought you said you came from 'just here—in Ceitha.'"

"Exactly."

He laughed. December stopped eating to look at him. It felt good to make someone else laugh, to make them happy. She wanted to make him laugh again.

"You do know the real reason I eat like this?"

"Why?"

"To prevent mold."

It worked. He laughed again. "Are you saying that you serve moldy food where you're from?"

"No, but it will get moldy if you don't eat it."

He laughed again. December smiled. Then she looked up. "Clear sky tonight." Sparkling silver dots were splattered all over the winter night sky.

Dimitri looked up also to admire it with her. "Pretty."

"Yeah," December lay back, gazing at it. Dimitri lay back beside her.

"Can I have some of that blanket please, Ember?" He asked, looking over at her.

"Yeah, sure," she unwrapped some of it and handed it to him, not moving her gaze.

"Thanks," he wrapped it around him.

"How many do you think there are?" she asked.

"How many what?"

"Stars."

"Oh, right," he looked at them and pondered. "Twenty?"

"Twenty?" she looked at him amusedly, and then she looked back at the stars. "Did you ever think that stars are actually fairies that watch us during the night?"

"No," he looked at her in the same way that she had just looked at him.

She smiled. "Well, why do you think that they're as pretty as they are?"

"Simple. They're just little rocks that reflect off the pretty girls down here," he awaited her reaction, grinning.

"Really?" she giggled.

Dimitri pointed to a bright, shining star. "That one looks just like you."

She laughed. "I thought you said the _pretty _girls."

"I did." He sat up. "Want to play a game or something?"

"Sure," she sat up too. "What game?"

"Knucklebones," he pulled a handful of knucklebones out of his pocket.

"What's that?"

"You don't know what knucklebones are?"

She shook her head. "Never heard of them."

"You got to start somewhere," he muttered. The knucklebones were small, white objects, each one with a different weird shape. "I'll teach you." He took the handful and tossed it in the air, then caught them on the back of his hand. He tossed them in the air again, and caught them expertly in his palm. "See? You try." He handed them to her.

"Have you had much practice?" She threw them in the air and tried to catch them, but missed as they clattered onto the ground. She scooped them back up.

"Yes. It's a hobby," he took her hand and trembled at its iciness. "Try to hold your hand flat, like this." He stretched her hand out flat. "Now try."

She threw the knucklebones in the air again, and then caught three on the back of her hand.

"Better," he smiled. "And try not to throw them so high, so they don't spread."

"So are these real bones—knucklebones?" She tossed them in the air again, with a similar result.

"As in human? No. Against the king's law, except for slaves maybe, but who's that cruel?" he replied.

"So what are they?"

"Elf."

December dropped them instantly, withdrawing her hand. Those could've been her _father's_ hands. She was toying with a part of the corpse of a fellow elf. "I have to go now," she got up and left the tent abruptly.

"Wait!" he got up and followed her. "Why? What's wrong? What happened?" He caught her arm and turned her around.

"You say that it is cruel to kill a slave for their bones, but what about the elves? Why is it not cruel for them?"

He looked stunned. "Well… it-it is, but… why should anyone care? Their ugly, vile creatures, like a dog, but with two feet and speech."

"Like a dog?! They're just like humans, like any other race!"

"No, they aren't! I hate them! They deserve death, all of them!"

"Thattu!" Tears stung in her eyes as she turned and ran away. He had mocked her race. He had mocked _her_. He called her a dog, an ugly creature. She kept running until she was at the edge of the marketplace, far away from _him_. She gasped for breath and brushed away her tears as she slowed to a stop.

The memory of the destruction of her beautiful village suddenly replayed in her mind, as it had frequently. She remembered everything as if it were just the day before.

"_Elizabeth! Shir ol sai!" Asa called to his wife. The marble buildings crumbled on top of screaming elves. Human soldiers ran through the place, killing elves quickly and painlessly. Elf warriors brought out their weapons, but they were outnumbered, and were taken by surprise. Elves struggled to carry injured relatives to the Talra waterfall, which was already stained red. Her mother lay under a fallen willow tree, laylam handing around her bruised body. Blood oozed from a gash in her forehead._

"_Shiya, jazenna," a hoarse voice mocked her, standing right above Elizabeth. Her vision was red, from the blood dripping into her eyes, but she knew what was coming. She began to panic, withdrawing herself further beneath the long branches of the willow. The soldier drew his sword._

"_Mu!" December squealed, running with a child's foolish courage to the soldier. She stepped between her mother and the soldier. She drew her arrow and aimed it threateningly at the soldier. "Harst! Thattu! Sten Mami!_

"_I apologize, rhiesque," he noticed her thin silver crown and reached for it. December reached up and held it firmly on her head. The soldier pondered a moment. Why take the crown? Why not just take the girl? She would fetch a high price in a slave market. Then he could take her crown as well. He grabbed her and swung her over his shoulder, too quickly for her to react. She dropped the arrow and began screaming and pummeling his back with her bow._

_But what she saw from over his shoulder filled her with an emotion she couldn't name—fear, panic, or maybe a lack of something? Behind him, a different soldier drew his sword and stabbed it into her mother, straight and true, through her heart._

"_Mu!" she began struggling again, wanting to run to her mother. The soldier held firm, tossing her into a wagon. He latched the door and it slowly began to move. December cried, reaching through the wooden boards. She didn't look away for a second until the once beautiful village was out of sight. Her vision blurred over as she continued to cry without stopping, gripping her bow with her life._

**A/N: You may notice a few changes here. I mean, other than the last one. You learn a little bit more about Dimitri. Dimitri's personality doesn't go from crazy angry to crazy nice… I think. And December's flashback has a **_**little **_**more detail. Tell me what you think about it. :) :) Also tell me what you think of the name changes and please, please tell me if you spot anywhere where I put Keilantra or Jerrold instead of December or Elijah. Thank YOOH!!!**

**Luv, Izzy**

**Review Replies**

_**StarlightRoses**_**: Why, thank you. : I hope you continue to love it.**

_**Tish**_**: Yeah, sorry I took so long. :[ I guess I sort of got discouraged for a while. Wow, thanks. Yeah, I love Aaron, too. huggles I like your names for Keilantra. You got a good taste in names. I'll probably go with December or Leah. But I think I'll keep Dimitri as he is. :::**

_**jessica louise**_**: Well… here it is. **

_**flowerpetals**_**: Yes, I'm very happy. Here, you get two muffins. throws muffins Thanks for the advice.**** And I like the name Elijah instead of Jerrold, I think. :D Yes, I've seen Anastasia! I love it! But I wasn't trying to copy him; I just loved that name… at the time, at least. I wasn't even thinking of the movie when I chose the name.**

_**rosyflower**_**: OK, OK. I don't want to be a murderer. )**


	4. But I Must Pull Through

**A/N: I have now officially changed Keilantra to December and Jerrold to Elijah. Please tell me what you think about it. And how you like this chapter as well. Remember—to get on my good side: long reviews. Hehe.**

**Luv, Izzy **

4. But I Must Pull Through

Tears began to course down December's cheeks again, but she brushed them off, persistent in her march home in the dark. She gripped her senses for dear life. She couldn't think straight. Her father's elvish pride pulsed through her blood, and she mustn't turn back nor apologize in any way. How could Dimitri be so insensitive? Of course, he didn't know she had elvish blood in her, but couldn't he see that he was hurting her when he spoke of elves that way?

_They're ugly, vile creatures. _She could still hear his harsh words. They seemed to ring in her ears. _Like a dog, but with two feet and speech. _Very well he didn't know she was an elf, for now she could see what was truly in his heart. _They deserve death, all of them! _The last words he had said to her set her off. She had yelled at him and told him to shut up. What would he think of her now? Would he be suspicious?

Something out of the night gripped her shoulder. She gasped softly as it twisted her around and held her firm. It was Dimitri. What did he want now? Further debate of why elves deserved death? To put some sense into her head? To try and prove what he was talking about? She didn't want any of it. "Leave me alone!" She jerked free of his grip, turning her back on him.

He twisted her to face him again. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry." _Yeah, right. _"I didn't know you felt such empathy for the elves."

"I do," December snapped, maybe a little too harsh. "When you mock them, you mock me." She quickly regretted speaking and defensively pulled the gray beret further over her ears.

"Why? What's special about them… to you?"

"I knew an elf once. He was my friend. He taught me their language. He later on died," she lied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he looked her in the eye. Dimitri's were a moss green, glinting in the moonlight.

"Ghada-ghada," she forced a smile and turned to continue on her way home.

"Ember." She stopped and turned around. "I want you to stay."

Ember's mouth stammered, but no sound came. After a while, the words came. "You want _me _to stay?"

"Yes." Dimitri said it as simply and casually as he would've said "Looks like rain today" or "How about lunch?" Could he possibly mean what came out of his mouth? "Please."

"Alright." She gave in.

"Good. I want to show you some place," he eagerly grabbed her arm and began running that same path that Ember was going to take home. He dragged her along that gently moonlit path until he reached a stony wall. Over the top of the stones was a cluster of trees—too small to be a forest, too big to be a garden.

Dimitri released her arm and climbed the wall. Ember stared up at him from the ground. _I am __**not **__climbing that thing… in a dress… at night. _Dimitri perched himself at the top. "You coming?" She hesitated. "I promise it'll be worth it." He extended a hand to her. She gazed at it. It was large and square, with veins sticking out of his wrist. Ember took a breath and placed her hand in his, using it as a rope as she stepped on each stone. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," she looked down and began to feel dizzy, gripping Dimitri's shirt for balance. "Yes." He laughed. Then, to Keilantra's horror, he jumped. She quickly released his shirt and gripped the rocks instead.

"Climb down," he encouraged. "If you fall, I'll catch you."

"No."

"Just grip the rocks and climb down backwards."

"No."

"If you fall, I'll catch—"

"No."

"I promise I won't let you get hurt." She looked at him. He meant it. Of course, he meant it. If he didn't mean it, she would scream and yell bloody murder. Then again who would hear her? "Please?" He looked up at her and put on an absurd puppy face, making her laugh.

"Alright, don't let me get hurt," she turned herself around and began to climb down slowly. "Don't look up my dress, either." He turned his face to the ground, grinning ear-to-ear.

"I won't." He watched her step her way down.

As soon as she felt the solid ground, she spun around to face him, a huge grin on her face. She spread her arms out. "I did it!"

He clapped, laughing. "Well done. Now let's go." He took her arm and began to run through the trees.

"What? Aren't we there yet?"

"Not yet."

She groaned.

"Now we are."

"Now we are what?"

"We're here."

Keilantra looked around—ordinary trees. Nothing extraordinary. "This is it."

"Yeah," he began to climb up the steps of a large oak tree.

"No."

He laughed, climbing the rest of the way up the tree. "Come one. I'll catch you if you fall."

"You mean if I fall upwards?"

"Just climb."

"Alright…" She carefully placed her hands and feet on the rotting wooden planks and climbed up onto the platform where Dimitri stood. "What is this place?" She looked around. It was a small home up in a tree!

"Do you like it?" He began to light torches and lanterns that were hanging in and outside the home.

"It's beautiful." A balcony stretched around the small house in the centre, with tables and chairs arranged on it. Inside were more tables and chairs, and a comfortable couch. There was also a food cupboard and a small vanity desk and a dresser.

"I made it," he announced proudly.

"Really? How long did it take you?" Keilantra looked around the place, fascinated. It was lit up now, with all the torches and candles.

"A long time. I can't remember. Want to take a seat?" he gestured toward the couch. Keilantra sat on it and he began rummaging through the food cupboard. "Most everything's gone bad," he told her.

"That's alright." He went and sat down beside her, enough room for another person to sit between them.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

"What about myself?"

"Who is December?"

"A skinny, ugly slave, with no home and no family."

"Please elaborate," he teasingly leaned his chin on his fists and looked at her excitedly.

"Well," she began. "My Mother and Father died and I was sold into slavery." Then she added sarcastically, "_Therefore, _I am a skinny, ugly slave, with no home and no family."

"Not ugly."

She looked at him, trying to read him. What was he implying? "What?"

"Never ugly. My sister wasn't ugly either."

What did his sister have to do with anything? He had never even said he had a sister. Questions nagged at Ember's throat, but she swallowed them politely.

"Tell me more."

"There's not much to tell."

"Tell me what you do everyday, starting from when you wake up to when you go to sleep!" He joked, grinning.

Ember laughed. "Well, I wake up, I do chores, I eat, I do more chores, I eat again, I do more chores, I eat again, I do some _more _chores, then I retreat to my quarters and go to sleep."

"And what do you do when you're asleep?"

She laughed again. "I dream, I guess."

"What do you dream about?"

"Not being a slave."

"Oh, yes, of course. And what would you be if you weren't a slave?"

"I would be a beautiful princess," she smiled. "Everyone would do whatever I say." She laughed. It seemed absurd now, but when she was young it wasn't a joke at all—it was real. She remembered the dream that had come to her each night… and her song. "I would sing," she said.

"You sing in your dreams?" He looked at her strangely.

"I know it's crazy," she said, almost embarrassed. "But it's almost like my dreams compose their own songs."

"Sing it."

"But I don't—"

"_Sing it_," he stared at her, anticipating, waiting. That was somewhat encouraging.

"To persist in toil and strife,

I've wasted all my life,

The truth is sharper than a knife,

But I must pull through."

She stopped, waiting for Dimitri's reaction.

"You're a beautiful singer," he said quietly.

"Really?"

"Yes! I mean, you're singing is beautiful," he paused. "Did you sing like that in your dream?"

"Yes."

"Was that the whole song?"

"No, there's more but—"

"It's getting late," he suddenly observed.

"Yes!" Ember jumped up, realizing how late she had stayed. "I have to leave now!"

"Please, don't go. Stay a while longer," he took her arm to pull her down, but she shook him off.

"I've stayed too long," she left and began to climb down the tree.

"Let me walk you home, then."

"No, it's alright," she touched the ground and looked up at him. "Thank you." She turned and ran the way they had come.

"But… Wait!" he jumped down and called after her. "When can I see you again?"

"Soon… maybe," Ember climbed up the stone wall.

Dimitri ran to the wall and looked up at her. "But where do you live?"

"Don't come to my home. I'll find you," she climbed down the other side.

"Why? When?" He climbed up the wall to look over, but she had ran off, stumbling through the snow.

"Soon!" she stopped and turned around. "I promise!" She began to run again.

"Why?" Dimitri jumped over the wall.

"Good night, Dimitri!"

Dimitri sighed. "Good night, December." He turned the opposite way and followed the snowy path to the market place.

December. _A beautiful name_, he thought. Julia—Lia. Nicole—Nicki. Olivia—Oli. He always thought of pet names for the girls he brought home. Maybe it made him feel closer to them. December—he thought of nothing. Ember was her given pet name, possibly by her master or fellow servants. It wasn't pretty enough. Ember—perhaps Em? Em was boring. Em was a pet name derived from the name Emma, not Ember.

The name came to him suddenly. Emma—beautiful, simple, sweet. It suited her. When he went to find her the following day, he would call her Emma.

Something about her reminded him of… _Angel_—her looks, her voice, her personality? He wanted to see her again the following day, but would she forget her promise?

Since Angel had died he had invited other girls to his tent, maybe to fill that void he had from losing her.

How many had he made to see him during the year she had been gone? One hundred? No—more. There had been Julia, the blacksmith's daughter. She looked similar to Angel, but was absolutely _nothing _like her.

Nicole was also a slave, but didn't look anything like her. Her laugh was happy, she had a cute sense of humor, but when Dimitri looked at her, it wasn't Angel that he was looking at. It was someone else, someone completely opposite to her. Still beautiful, just not Angel.

No one had ever looked and acted as much like Angel as much as this girl—Emma. The same light cinnamon-coloured skin, the same long, black hair, the same large, brown eyes, too big for her sweet face. She possessed Angel's smile, Angel's expressions, Angel's slight height and stature. She even acted like Angel—making jokes, clumsy mistakes and her minor fear of heights that he always had found amusing.

He wanted to keep her. He was certain he had found his Angel. He hadn't felt the same since Angel had died.

He arrived back at the tent, where the fire was out, with faintly glowing embers. Rhonda lifted her head and whinnied softly. "Hey, Rhonda." He knelt next to her and patted her nose. "You won't leave me, will you?"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

December stopped running after she got tired. No one had ever treated her like that. She actually felt kind of… pretty… beautiful. She hadn't felt that way since her father had whispered it in her ear.

When she had been passed from slave trader to slave trader on her way to Ceitha, seven years ago, she had gone from princess to ugly, useless slave in a matter of days.

_The wagon bumped along the road. December huddled in the corner, clutching the beautiful bow close to her chest. The wagon stopped suddenly, and she lurched forward. The back of the wagon was opened and the same soldier who had captured her dragged her out._

_A man stood up on the front porch of a small wooden building. He was at least in his mid-thirties, and his face was scarred. Ember thought he looked ugly. He hadn't cared to shave for several days, and possibly not even bathe. Then he spoke, showing what was left of his teeth. "How much?"_

"_Eight hundred gold coins," the soldier lifted her by the back of her dress up onto the porch._

"_Why so much?"_

"_She's an elf princess." The man on the porch scoffed as the soldier suddenly snatched the crown off of her head._

"_Ay!" Ember squealed. "Amay doss lori!" She groped for the crown, but the soldier held it out of her reach._

_Hesitantly, the man tossed two large bags of coins to the soldier. The soldier opened one and ran his finger through the gold inside it, not loosening his grip on Ember's dress. "Good doing business with you," he grinned. He pushed Ember forward, but she resisted and beat him with her bow. He loosened his grip on her and she began to run. She didn't know where, just __**away**__. The soldier was faster as he ran after her and grabbed her by her waist, swinging her over his shoulder._

"_Loke sai cach! Loke sai cach!" December screamed, kicking and struggling._

"_Here! Take her!" The soldier said, putting her on the porch directly in front of the man. He took her firmly by the arm, waved off the soldier, then took her inside the house. Ember looked around anxiously, taking in the scene of the place. It was quiet empty, besides a long metal pole attached to the wall and a few small stools. The man took a rope and bound her wrists together, then bound her to the metal pole tightly._

"_You'll wait her for now," he told her gruffly. She struggled to sit, but her arms were tied so high, she couldn't reach the ground. A stool was just out of her reach. She flexed her foot to pull it towards her, but the man pushed it further._

"_Ay!" she whined. The man laughed coldly. She kicked his leg, hard. He groaned._

"_Princess, aye?" he scoffed again. "Ha!" Then he left, closing the door, and it was dark._

_December drifted off on her knees, and awoke later as light streamed onto her face and eyes. The same gruff, ugly man untied her and dragged her out, half asleep, hair and dress disheveled. With the help of some other man, they lifted her into the back of a different wagon and locked it._

"_How much is she?" the new slave trader asked, climbing into the front of the wagon and taking up the reins._

"_Eight hundred-fifty gold coins," he replied._

"_I'm not paying that!"_

"_She's an elf maiden." The slave trader handed him the coins reluctantly. December soon drifted to sleep in the back of the wagon._

_The phrase, "She's an elf princess," was altered a lot. She soon became an elf maiden, then an elf peasant, then a common peasant and by the end of her journey she had become a common slave. The men she was passed to and from didn't take much notice of her. Ember didn't even look like royalty any more. Her messy hair fell over her ears and her once-pink, knee-length dress was now dirty and torn._

_She finally reached the tiny town, Ceitha._

_The marketplace was crowded with people wanting new slaves for their home, bartering for lower prices. Ember was after this slave girl who had been sold repeatedly by her previous masters. She was sold for fifty bronze coins, then Ember stood up on the stand. She looked at the crowd timidly. The slave trader introduced her to the crowd. "This is a young slave found during the siege of the elves. She may look small, but she is strong—she made the journey from Amianell to here—and can be trained easily. One thousand gold coins anyone?"_

_The crowd was silent. Only the noble and the royal would pay that much for a mere slave._

"_I'll buy her!" A man pushed his way to the front. The crowd gasped. It was Lord Thomas Crouch, the richest man in Ceitha! He went close to the slave trader then leaned to whisper in his ear. "Are you absolutely certain she is worth __**one thousand **__gold coins, because I only buy the best of the best and—"_

"_Absolutely," the man replied. "Strong, durable, clever. She's one of a kind, my lord."_

"_One thousand coins, then," he gave him the bag. "Come, my sweet," he gently took December by the hand and helped her off the stand._

"_Sold!"_

December hadn't felt again like a princess until this night. She smiled, walking into the yard and to the large front door of the house. She slowly and quietly pushed the heavy door open and walked in, closing the door softly behind her. She ran up the stairs, down the hall, up the ladder and into the servants' quarters, where she tip-toed over sleeping bodies and sat down on her mat. She took off her beret and tossed it onto Farmer Johns' sleeping form. He clutched it and groaned, turning onto his side.

When December lay back on her mat, she realized how tired she was. She quickly untied her messy braids before pulling the thin blanket over her small body and curling up. She fell asleep instantly.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Ah, George! Did you have a good sleep last night?" Dimitri waltzed into the general goods store and leaned on the bench, grinning at the shopkeeper.

"Sorry, sir," George muttered. "Do I know you?"

"I come around now and again. My name's Dimitri," he reached out and shook George's hand. "A nice day today, don't you think so, George? Nicer than yesterday."

"Aye," George agreed, keeping a wary eye on him while he carried on with a few chores.

"Anyway," Dimitri changed subject quickly. "I'm looking for a dark-skinned girl, knows elvish, about this high," he held his hand up to his chest. "Would you know where she might live?"

"Aye," George said. He knew who he meant. _December_. No other girl in Ceitha who matched her description spoke elvish. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm a friend."

George studied him for a while before deciding it would do no harm to tell him where the girl lives, if he really was her friend. "I believe she's living in a manor under the care of Lady Brunhilde. I don't know her last name, sorry. She lives outside of town—among the wealthier groups."

"Thanks," Dimitri breathed, starting to leave. "That helped—a little." He left the shop, George staring after him suspiciously.

Dimitri noticed a lady standing at a fruit stand close by. Maybe she would know something. He approached her.

"Excuse me, miss. My name is Dimitri and I was just wondering if a small, dark-skinned girl ever came by. I believe her name is December Shonti."

The old woman glared at him before declaring, "No buy, no information!"

"But I have no money!"

"No buy, no information!"

"Alright! Hold on," he turned around. Where could he get money fast? He saw a lady walking by with a large bag and grinned. Acting casually until she passed by him, he followed her stealthily. He waited until no one was watching, then he slipped his hand into her bag and felt around until he gripped a pouch, no doubt filled with money. He pulled it out and ran back to the fruit stand. "Give me a banana."

"Five bronze coins," she told him.

"No way!"

"_Five bronze coins!"_

"Alright!" He pulled five bronze coins out of the pouch and handed them to her, taking the banana. "So what do you know about Emma?"

"Emma?"

"December," Dimitri began to peel the banana.

"Ah, yes. She had been living with the Lord Thomas Crouch, though he left for Iyunthra many years ago. I fear what may have happened to him." She ignored Dimitri for a moment to tend to another customer.

Taking bites out of the banana, Dimitri asked, "Where is the manor?"

"No buy, no information."

"But I already bought something!" Dimitri yelled, frustrated.

"No buy, no ingormation!"

Groaning he said, "I'll take a pear."

"Three bronze coins."

"Whatever," he handed her the coins, dropping his banana peel and taking the pear. "So where's the manor?"

"It is outside of town—in the wealthy part. I believe it is the largest manor. Lady Brunhilde is the mistress now. She has four daughters, beautiful girls, and many servants."

"Thank you," Dimitri finished the pear in three large bites and tossed the core aside, turning to leave. He didn't want to risk asking this stubborn lady any more questions—he wasn't that hungry. He was determined to find this girl—Emma.

**A/N: So… what do you think? I have baked muffins and even decorated them for anyone who likes giving constructive criticism or just constructive niceness. P lol. See the swirly icing patterns? Anyway, please, please comment on this chapter! I really want to know what you think! I really, really do appreciate my reviewers! Thank you!**

**Luv, Izzy **

**Review Replies**

_**Tish: **_**ZOMG, I love chocilatt too!! Yokie dokie, muffin for you. throws muffin Thank you for reviewing.**

_**flowerpetals: **_**OK. Here. Hope you like it. :**


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